


The most brutal of teachers

by alessandralee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:04:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandralee/pseuds/alessandralee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Call it coincidence, or intuition, or an intimate familiarity with the way grief works, but a part of her knows that’s where she needs to be."</p><p>Early one morning, May, Skye, and Jemma mourn together (set after What They Become).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The most brutal of teachers

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the weeks after the season 2 midseason finale, and deals the aftermath of Trip's death.
> 
> It was written for aosexchange.

When they’re not on the Bus, Melinda May generally prefers to do her morning tai chi in the quiet calm of her own bunk. This morning, though, she opts to do it in the training room instead.

Call it coincidence, or intuition, or an intimate familiarity with the way grief works, but a part of her knows that’s where she needs to be.

It’s just after five AM, usually one of the quieter hours in the Playground, but May isn’t the only person in the room. Two people have beat her there.

Jemma Simmons is jogging on one of the base’s treadmills. She looks exhausted, which should be a surprise, since she excused from the lab to go to bed before dinner last night. Then again, mourning is draining sometimes.

Skye’s on the opposite end of the room, with her hands taped up as she furiously pounds away at a punching bag. She too looks to be in desperate need of some sleep, but May knows she hasn’t gotten much at all. Her grief is mixed with guilt, driving her to search desperately for anything can explain her newfound abilities and help her to control them. She isn’t having much success.

Skye grieves for Trip the way Simmons did for Fitz when he was lying in that coma, and for the months before she left in hopes of helping him heal. Purpose can be important, but not when you chase it with such single-mindedness that you ignore your own wellbeing.

Melinda knows from experience.

She situates herself in the middle of the large room, breathes deeply and begins. She moves slowly through each form, breathing deeply as she goes.

If she could, Melinda would take all their pain for herself, these girls don’t deserve to hurt this much. Neither does she, of course, but she’s mastered the art of enduring. She’s handled, and is still handling much worse.

But all she can right now is be the calm in the center of their storm. She’s offered both of them her ear, and she has faith that they’ll come to her sooner rather than later. They’re strong, her girls, and she knows they can get through this.

“Shit,” the room grows quieter as Jemma’s treadmill slows to a stop. Breaking form, May turns her head to check on the young woman. She’s stumbled off the machine (bone deep exhaustion doesn’t usually provide great coordination), ripping out the emergency stop cord attached to her shirt as she catches herself before falling.

May turns her head back into position as she listens to Simmons grab her towel and water bottle, panting as she recovers from the exertion.

Skye’s punches grow more and more frantic, a mess of desperation. Melinda thinks she must be trying to wear herself out completely, rather than focusing on the controlled movements she’s taught her. Melinda was there for Skye’s debriefing after San Juan, she can guess what Skye sees every time she closes her eyes.

May knows, again from her own personal experience, that physical exhaustion can only keep those nightmares at bay for so long. The subconscious mind is a bitch, twisting memories so even the worst moments feel even more horrific.

It took months for her own nightmares to abate after Bahrain. Sometimes they still pop up out of nowhere. She’s gotten better at coping with them, at forcing herself to calm down enough to go back to sleep. It’s a skill she’s glad she’s had Skye practice, even if she never intended for Skye to use it under these circumstances.

Melinda’s distracted by her thoughts, her worries, to the point that she notices the absence of Skye’s fists against the punching bag before she notices that Jemma’s panting has turned to sobbing.

Skye’s already rushing towards her, peeling the tape off her hands as she goes. She wraps her arms around her friend and pulls her in close as May joins them, running a hand slowly up and down each of their backs.

Skye starts crying too, tears silently falling from her eyes. It breaks Melinda’s heart to see them falling to pieces like this, but she knows it’s better than using sleep or work to withdraw from what they’re feeling.

Awkwardly, like she doesn’t have full complete control of her limbs, Simmons reaches out and wraps her arms around Skye. Still clinging to each other, they lower themselves to the floor, only pulling apart so they can find a way to sit down. They each curl up into themselves and lean against one another for support.

May seats herself across from the two of them, on the edge of the treadmill.

She watches silently as Jemma’s sobs slow and then cease. Eventually both women relax a little and look up at her with red-rimmed eyes.

“I just… I thought this was over,” Simmons says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought that when Fitz came out of the coma, everything would get better.”

And then it didn’t, so she left in hopes that her absence would provide him with the right circumstances to heal. And after she returned things started to improve, just a little bit. And then all that hope was shattered with Trip’s death. And now she has no theories to pursue, no small hint of a way to fix things.

They’re Shield agents, and Melinda’s years with the organization have taught her that they’ll probably lose many more friends before their careers end (and that’s assuming their careers end in retirement, sadly that’s not always the case). Things can, and probably will, get much worse than this.

But that’s not what they need to hear right now.

“I keep seeing it,” Skye confesses, and a small part of Melinda is grateful for the change in subject. This way she doesn’t have to choose between telling them the awful truth or the lie that will give them false hope.

“It’s not your fault,” Jemma tells Skye, guessing easily what the memory is that’s haunting her.

“I know that,” Skye replies, her voice still heavy with the tears she’s only just stopped shedding, “in my head, but not in my…” she gestures towards her heart, not sure that’s exactly the right word.

“Gut,” May speaks for the first time, and Skye nods. “You will though.”

Skye will stop blaming herself for Trip’s death. Jemma will stop withdrawing. The pain will become manageable, even it never goes away completely. Sometimes they’ll forget their losses for days and weeks and even months. 

They will get through this.

But they won’t understand those promises until they get to the other side of this. Telling them will only make them feel worse. They still feel responsible, they don’t want to know that one day they won’t.

So Melinda gently wedges herself between the two of them, wrapping her arms around their shoulders. They talk in low voices about how it hurts and how much they miss Trip. She can’t take the weight off their shoulders, but at least she can help them carry the burden.


End file.
